


Second Petition

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Semipublic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-15
Updated: 2007-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hear ‘James Wilson’ and ‘prostate’ in the same sentence and I just come a-running.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Petition

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Petition](http://archiveofourown.org/works/179699), although it can stand alone. Written for [](http://asynca.livejournal.com/profile)[**asynca**](http://asynca.livejournal.com/) , who wanted a reconciliation (and for [](http://perspi.livejournal.com/profile)[**perspi**](http://perspi.livejournal.com/) , who always likes it when the sequel is porn). Thanks to [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

It was without a doubt the worst conference Wilson had ever gone to. Bad logistics, bad speakers, terrible food, and terrible service. And you’d think, given that they were all adults, not to mention physicians, that an hour could go by at a prostate cancer symposium without someone making a buttplug joke. You would think, but you’d be wrong.

The only decent thing that had happened in the entire three days was meeting Laura. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but her wit and humor more than made up for it. They’d had a very entertaining evening together the night before, and he’d changed his flight back just to get another night with her.

His head was bent toward hers as they strolled through the hotel lobby on the way to dinner, and the crash of running into a solid mass of body shocked him.

“Sorry, so sorry,” he said automatically, and reached out a hand to steady himself. Strong fingers closed around his, and a familiar voice rang out.

“I’ve been waiting months to hear you say that.”

Wilson snatched his hand back as if burned. “What are you doing here?” he scowled, taking a step away from House and putting an arm around Laura protectively. He couldn’t take his eyes off House’s face – that smug bastard.

“Oh, sweetheart,” House replied, leering grotesquely, “I hear ‘James Wilson’ and ‘prostate’ in the same sentence and I just come a-running.”

He was not going to play this game; he was not going to let House do this to him. “Let’s go,” he murmured to Laura and attempted to steer her away.

But of course, through some law of the universe that said things couldn’t go well for Wilson where House was concerned, Laura actually wanted to engage with the six-two terror.

“Are you a friend of James’s?” she asked, and good God, she could not be that naïve.

“Not at all,” House replied, his most wolfish grin on display. “I’m Greg House, his ex-husband.”

The look on her face might have been funny if it wasn’t appearing on a woman he was hoping to sleep with that night. “His – what?” she asked, pivoting her gaze between House and Wilson.

“You didn’t know? News not reach the oncology grapevine wherever you live?” At her continued befuddlement, House snorted. “You’re not a conference attendee.”

“I work for the hotel,” Laura replied, and Wilson pressed a finger to his temple to stave off the impending headache.

He didn’t even have to look up to see House’s patronizing expression. “Messing around with the hired help, Jimmy? A little low, even for you.”

The only way to end this was to get House out of there.

“Excuse me a moment, will you? We have a few things to discuss,” Wilson said to Laura as he began pushing House away. They almost slipped on the marble floor, but managed to make it into a hall off the lobby.

“House!” Wilson barked, and then immediately felt embarrassed as he saw a few people at the other end of the corridor. He opened the closest door and shoved House into the room.

Those damn blue eyes on him, he opened his mouth again to speak but lost his train of thought when he noticed the dozen or so king-sized beds that filled the otherwise empty meeting room. “What?”

Smirking, House walked three steps to the nearest bed and sank onto the edge. He dropped his cane to the floor and bounced a few times experimentally. “Mattress and bedding tradeshow,” he explained. “The latest in sleep technology.”

 _Irritating bastard always knows everything_ , Wilson thought, and his tirade came back to him. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Enjoying the fabulous Orlando waterparks.” House had lain down. His bouncing was getting lewd, but Wilson quickly shoved that out of his mind. “Wet & Wild, Blizzard Beach, Typhoon Lagoon – I’m hitting ’em all.”

This nonsense was doing nothing for Wilson’s mood. Hands on hips, he accused, “You followed me here, didn’t you?”

House pushed himself to sitting and regarded Wilson calmly. “I believe I already confessed to that crime, baby.”

Between the serenity and the ridiculous endearment, Wilson was about to blow a gasket. “House, this is ridiculous. We are divorced.”

“Doesn’t stop me from wanting to suck your dick.”

That stopped Wilson cold. Or, not cold, exactly. The heat in House’s eyes wouldn’t permit that. Wilson jutted his chin defiantly. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I would be,” House replied as he rose, and it wasn’t fair, the way the man looked when he stretched – strength and grace and magnetism. “But you’re about five feet too far away.”

No. This was not going to happen. When James Wilson’s marriages ended, they were over. He accepted the failure and moved on. Just because the man who’d held him up after failures one through three was standing in front of him now didn’t mean –

He lost his place when House’s breath blew hot across his left ear.

“I miss you.” It wasn’t fair, the way that whisper blew out every nerve along his spinal cord on its way down to his groin. “I miss your boring ties; I miss your pocket protector; I miss your stupid-ass hairdryer.” House’s fingers were drifting down Wilson’s arms, firm down the fabric of his golf shirt, tantalizingly light when they reached his skin.

“I miss the anal way you re-alphabetize the spices every time I mess them up.” House’s lips came closer to Wilson’s ear; his hands clasped Wilson’s wrists firmly. “I miss your cock.”

“House, this is not –” The press of lips to his, sudden and hot, cut off Wilson’s voice. The remainder of the sentence bounced in his mind: _a good idea, a good idea, a good idea_ …

Then House’s tongue was in his mouth, probing, possessing, and House’s arms were coming around his back. House was still holding Wilson’s wrists, so the action pulled Wilson’s arms back as well, twisting them gently and stretching the muscles of Wilson’s chest. He felt open, exposed, pinned, enveloped in warmth, and he pushed back the only way he could, with his tongue and lips, pursuing House, hunting his heat.

House broke their kiss and pulled back, only to dive in at a new angle, kissing and licking along Wilson’s neck and jaw.

“My newest fellow thinks I’m a perv because of you.” They were moving now toward the bed, House with abandon and Wilson with caution. _If this stops because of that damn leg…_ “She caught me,” House breathed, and they were down on the bed, on their sides, House rolling Wilson and pushing him back, back, back. “I was on our balcony, thinking of you,  dreaming of you, and she caught me there, touching myself through my jeans.”

Wilson surged up to grab another kiss, and touched himself through his khakis. House’s hands were busy at Wilson’s waist, but as he brought the pants down, he knocked aside Wilson’s hands.

“I always wanted to blow you on our balcony, but you wouldn’t let me. You were such a tease.” The departure of House’s lips made Wilson grunt in disapproval, but the sight of House between his thighs, sinking lower, more than made up for it.

“Such a tease,” House repeated as he blew across the head of Wilson’s dick.

“God,” Wilson groaned, and then those lips closed around him. One big gulp down almost the entire shaft and then back up to just the head, bathing it in wetness. The pressure was perfect, just perfect, and then it was gone. That beautiful tongue raced down the side of Wilson’s penis to the base and then back up again, a quick suck, and then down the other side and back up.

 _Fuck_. Fuck, that was gorgeous, every nerve singing. House did it again, and again, and then a great lapping lick up the underside of Wilson’s dick, and holy  Hell, the man was a genius in more ways than one.

With all his focus on the beautiful things House’s mouth was doing, Wilson had completely lost track of House’s hands until that very moment. A warmly slick finger pressed in between his ass cheeks, probing. Just then there was a harder suck on the end of his dick, and the finger slipped in, up to the first knuckle.

Wilson gasped, and House’s finger slipped in farther. They began to move in time with each other, tongue and finger, bathing and filling, slickness and pressure, when suddenly Wilson’s brain caught on to what was happening.

“No,” he croaked. He swallowed and tried again. “No.” A firmer voice, full of resolve. _Good_.

“You’re not going to suck me and then fuck me, House. No.” Neither the tongue nor the finger (now joined by a second) had stopped, but Wilson was determined. He grabbed House’s ear, twisted, and pushed. “Get off!”

Forced by pain, House pulled back his head, although his fingers stayed where they were. He looked down at Wilson, eyes narrowed but dancing with fire.

Wilson brought both hands up to stroke House’s ears gently, and smiled. “Fuck me first.”

The fingers sped up, and Wilson pumped his hips with them. He wanted this so damn badly.

House threw a condom on Wilson’s chest and – there was no other way to say it – presented his cock for sheathing. With just a twinge of regret that the protection was even needed, Wilson rolled the condom onto House slowly. House groaned, and it was the sexiest thing Wilson had heard in months.

Between the two of them, they covered House’s dick with lube, and then the fingers were gone and there was House, pushing in gently. It burned, and pressed uncomfortably, and Wilson sucked in a breath between his teeth. House stopped, helped Wilson pull his legs up farther, and then leaned down. He planted the softest of kisses all across Wilson’s face: chin, lips, cheeks, eyelids; the gentle pressure their secret signal to relax.

Wilson breathed deeply and focused on what he wanted – to be filled, to be warm, to feel the zing of sparks that only this gave him. Slowly, gently, House started to rock, and then to press. Wilson relaxed, and then began to rock himself, urging House to go deeper and faster.

“This,” Wilson breathed as the pleasure built. “I miss this. This heat. This connection.”

House opened his eyes and looked down at him, down into him, and Wilson refused to look away. “I miss your humor; I miss the fun of being with you.”

House thrust harder, hit against Wilson’s prostate, and Wilson had to gasp. He was tempted just to shut up there and ride the rest of this wave to its crashing climax. But he couldn’t. If anything ever was to be right between them, he had to say this.

He grabbed at House’s head to make sure he would listen. “I missed it even more the last month we lived together.”

House grimaced and closed his eyes, grunting, “Me too.” His thrusts sped up; his face tightened. He groaned in tight little bursts as Wilson watched him, gasping. Then a last push, and a tension, and a shuddering sigh.

House collapsed, burying his face in the pillow by Wilson’s head. Wilson struggled to shift and lower his legs, which were starting to ache, without knocking into House’s thigh too hard. Eventually he managed, no thanks to his House-blanket.

“Hey,” he said, and poked House in the ribs. “You’re forgetting something.”

“I’m forgetting everything,” House mumbled, and tucked his face in closer to Wilson’s.

Two more pokes, and House wiggled away slightly. “What?”

“OK, now suck me.”

“I’m tired,” House whined.

“Don’t care. You wanted to suck my cock, so suck my cock.” Wilson thrust up a few times to accentuate his point.

Slowly, sluggishly, House crawled back down Wilson’s body. Wilson was just about to complain about the pace when House’s tongue made contact with his penis. The show he put on then was in complete contrast: lively, energetic, and inventive. Within minutes, Wilson was biting his lip to keep from yelling as he came.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever been willing to do it in that order,” Wilson noted as he petted House’s head and waited for his heartbeat to drop back into a normal pace.

“Yep,” House replied and nuzzled Wilson’s thighs.

Wilson swatted ineffectually at him. “Ow, beard burn, stop.”

“You weren’t complaining before.” How House made smugness so sexy, Wilson would never know.

“I had very pleasurable things to distract me before.”

House rolled back and forth as he struggled to pull his jeans back up. Wilson restrained the twin urges to help and to laugh.

Clothes secured, House rolled away from Wilson and sat up. He pulled the pillowcase off one of the bed’s pillows and handed it to Wilson to clean off.

When Wilson was back to some semblance of order, clothing restored and hair raked into place, House grabbed his hand and held it.

“I want you back.”

Wilson looked at House for a long beat. “What makes you think things would be different, that we could make it work?”

“I’ve thought about it.” House squeezed his hand. “I’m willing to change.”

“In what way?”

House rolled his eyes, but kept his grip on Wilson’s hand. “First of all, I sucked you off when I was half-dead. Second, I’m having this stupid conversation with you.”

“Get to the real stuff.”

“The post-coital blowjob was a real thing,” House replied indignantly.

Wilson decided to bend, not least because he wanted that to happen again. “Yes, it was. I apologize. Go on.”

House took a big breath and let it out slowly. “I’m going to – I’ve already started, actually – to figure out what I’m feeling instead of just what I’m thinking, and share it with you.”

Wilson was stunned. House really had thought about their relationship if he was hitting to the core of their difficulties so cleanly.

“When I don’t take your advice, I’m going to tell you why not instead of just pretending I wasn’t listening. I’m going to –”

Wilson leaned in and kissed House, cutting him off. When he pulled back, he said, “Don’t over-commit yourself. The ones you’ve already mentioned are pretty huge.”

House laughed. “Does this mean yes?”

“Since you’ve been thinking so much, you probably thought of ways I need to change too.”

“Of course.” The arrogance was adorable, and Wilson was compelled to wipe a thumb along that smirk.

“There are two biggies,” House continued. “Otherwise, of course, you’re practically perfect.”

“Of course,” Wilson echoed.

“You said you missed the fun. These will both help with that. The first is cut back on the lecturing, especially anything that starts with, ‘You know what your problem is?’ Tell me what you want, instead of what’s wrong with me.”

Wilson nodded and ducked his head. He’d been embarrassed about that for quite a while.

“Second, the alphabetized spice thing is cute, as I said, but otherwise loosen up a bit about the household stuff. We’re not going to fall into ruin if the milk sits on the counter for an hour.”

That one would be tougher, because really if milk sat too long, it was liable – Wilson cut that train of thought off and forced himself to relax. He could do it, because the benefit was right in front of him.

“We’ll work on it together,” Wilson declared, and leaned in for one more kiss.

House held up a hand to forestall him. “Before we officially seal the deal on this, though, there’s one more thing you have to take care of. Weren’t you on a date?”

“Laura! Shit!” Wilson jumped off the bed, tripped on House’s cane, bounced off the next bed over, and fell flat on his ass. House laughed, and after his initial mortification died off, Wilson laughed, too.

They were still chuckling about it when they made it back into the lobby. Wilson scanned the room and spotted Laura sitting at the lobby bar, having a drink.

“Laura, hi, sorry,” he said, briefly touching her shoulder. House was wisely hanging back, staring at anything but them. The bartender crossed his arms and gave a glare that was almost House-ian in its dimensions.

Laura swung around, resignation plastered on her face.

His brain was clearly not firing on all cylinders, because he couldn’t figure out a subtle way to say this. They’d only had one date; he didn’t owe her much, but he at least owed her honesty. “I talked with my ex, and we’re getting back together.”

“I figured.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t think you are,” she replied and turned decisively away from him.

Under the bartender’s disapproving gaze, he slunk sheepishly back to House. “That was terrible.”

Taking off toward the elevators, House shrugged. “At least you said something. I would have just left her there. To be on the safe side, though, maybe we should find another hotel for the night. I hear the Ritz-Carlton is gorgeous.”

  
An hour later, as he was waiting by the desk for House to finish checking out, Wilson noticed a hotel employee moving at a fast clip across the lobby to where Laura still sat, chatting with the bartender.

“Ms. Rhodes,” the young man called. “We need you right away.”

“What is it?” Laura asked, as she rose and followed him.

“The planner for the mattress tradeshow is furious. Apparently, one of the exhibits has been, um, damaged…” Their voices faded as they headed down the meeting room hallway.

Trying desperately to cover up his grin, Wilson tugged hard on House’s sleeve. “House, hurry up. We’ve got to go.”


End file.
